


let's make a night you won't remember

by truecontradictions (dialetheism)



Series: wip amnesty [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - American, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Drunken Kissing, Dry Humping, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:09:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialetheism/pseuds/truecontradictions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>there's this kid sitting in there, curled up on the floor of the tub with his knees tucked under his chin. and he can’t be a day over seventeen, really, eighteen at a stretch. not with his limbs so long and gangly, body held awkwardly like he’s not properly gotten used to them yet.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>inexplicably, he seems to be holding an orange in one wide palm, peeling the rind in a careful spiral with his other hand. it takes him a second, but eventually the kid looks up and smiles, all of his teeth on display even as he says, "you want a slice?"</i>
</p>
<p>-- Louis meets Harry at a party and then brings him home (where they don't have sex).</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's make a night you won't remember

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been going back through my gdocs and cleaning up certain pieces of old wips, as well as a few NOTfics, just as a way to pass the time and curb my often crippling boredom; if you followed me under my last handle, then you'll probably remember this one as a small piece of a grander whole (that i never finished, and will probably never go back to). and if you remember that, then you also remember the weird as fuck Eleanor/Ed Sheeran background pairing -- while i can assure you that there had actually been a reason for them in the context of the original fic, none of that's relevant anymore, so. all mentions of Ed and Eleanor have been replaced with Niall and tg!Zayn, because my priorities will never not sneak their way into everything i write ever.
> 
> not beta'd and not true (and also not rated, but pls do heed the tags for recreational drug and alcohol use as there are a lot of mentions to the latter and a few implications to the former); all mistakes are my own, and anything read here should be taken with a grain of salt. title from the song _Timber_ by Pitbull and Ke$ha.

Louis’ roommate has been after him all week, dropping hints nearly every day about coming with her to some party or other. he can’t say that he doesn’t admire her tenacity.

on Monday, it’s a text: _party this weekend, you comin?_ ; she leaves him a voicemail on Wednesday, during what must be her break at work: _hey, don’t forget to bring home a gallon of milk tonight. and listen - make sure you go to Trader Joe’s, okay, it really isn’t that far out of your way and i’ll know if you just swing by the bodega on the corner. **i’ll know** , Lou._ there’s a sigh, the sounds of her rummaging in her purse, the snick of her favorite Zippo. a deep inhale, a sharp exhale. _oh! and about that party this weekend, you really should think about coming. remember i told you about that guy? the Irish one? well, he’s DJing, so.. you know._ ; Friday, he wakes up to the crinkle of a post-it on his forehead: _PARTY TOMORROW!_ and then another, on the bathroom mirror: _IF YOU DON’T COME I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!_

there’s one more, stuck to the gallon of milk when Louis grabs it out of the fridge, going unnoticed until he’s pouring it over his bowl Cocoa Puffs: _this is not from Trader Joe’s. you asshole :(_

Louis works an opening shift the following Saturday morning, and when he gets back to the apartment later in the day, Zayn is waiting for him in the living room. she’s sat on the couch, feet up on their shitty coffee table, half of her attention watching the rerun of Jerry Springer on the television. the other half is painting her toenails the same matte black that she’s used on her fingers.

she calls out to him just as he’s tossing his keys into the bowl on the kitchen bar, “swear to god, Lewis, if you aren’t in there making yourself a nice, big hearty lunch to help you survive the truly ridic amounts of booze you’ll be consuming tonight -- i don’t even know anymore.”

he doesn’t respond. Louis’ already halfway to the fridge, and while he _had_ been planning on making himself a couple of ham and cheeses, he really doesn’t need Zayn getting the wrong idea about her power over him. so.

Zayn continues to grumble vaguely in the other room, and Louis turns toward the pantry. he grabs a packet of Poptarts and slips away to his room to eat them cold.

 

of course, he can only evade her for so long. when Zayn leaves her bedroom almost eight hours later, she finds Louis moved into the living room, sitting leaned back against the front of their coffee table, legs criss-crossed and hands wrapped around a Playstation controller.

Louis flicks a quick glance over his shoulder and notices that she’s changed, high-waisted black lamé leggings making her seem somehow longer, her fancy black and gold Osiris kicks looking especially bulbous at the end of her skinny legs. she’s also wearing what appears to be a cropped, sequined bustier - black and gold as well, naturally. there must be a theme.

“am i going to have to dress up, too?” Louis asks, eyes back on his video game. “is this gonna be one of _those_ parties?”

Zayn sighs, comes over and folds herself down next to him on their stained carpet. “yes, this is definitely gonna be one of those parties - and you _love_ those parties, so don’t even front.”

“true,” he reasons. Louis gets three zombie headshots in a row on-screen, and when Zayn leans her head on his shoulder, he allows his own to fall to the side, temple nestled in her hair. it smells like mangoes. “don’t know what i’d wear, though.”

“honestly, you’re pretty enough that you could just go all black, let me dust some gold eyeshadow on you. done.” she nudges him in the side with a bony elbow, “but make sure to wear those jeans.. you know the ones.”

“what, my Fuck Me jeans? or the jeggings?”

“are the jeggings not the Fuck Me jeans?” Zayn asks, lifting her head to furrow her brow at him. “you know what, either of those will probs work,” Louis snorts a sardonic chuckle and Zayn isn’t far behind, falls back into his side with a string of husky giggles, her breath warm through his thin t-shirt. “maybe they’ll even do their job and get you laid. allah knows you could do with a good dicking.”

Louis makes a face at the television, clearly meant for her as he pairs it with a mocking _oh, ha ha. blasphemer._ and despite her own laughter, Zayn does not seem to find any of this funny, lifts her head once more to level him an exasperated stare. Louis laughs for real this time.

“oh please, Z. as if this whole night isn’t going to be about you getting fucked by an Irish DJ.”

Zayn shrugs, knows better than to try and deny his claims. she’s got no shame, either way, shimmies her chest in his direction. “and if it turns out he isn’t into the kind of peen that comes with a side order of titties, then he’s all yours.”

“how kind of you,” Louis starts, voice dipped in sarcasm, but then pauses to consider. “surprisingly enough, i don’t think i’ve ever actually been with any Irishmen - like, not counting the guy i sucked off in the toilets of that pub in Rockaway, obviously.. hmm. okay, s’pose it could be fun.”

“see? everyone wins,” Zayn pushes herself up to standing, holds out her hand with an expectantly arched eyebrow. “come on, Lou. let’s get you dolled up.”

Louis looks at her hand, small and clean, then her face, open and waiting. when he chances a look back at the television screen, he realizes that a hoard of the living dead are coming straight for his avatar. Louis saves his place in the game and throws the controller onto the couch behind him.

“yeah, fine,” he says, grabs Zayn’s hand and lets her pull him to his feet. “might as well.”

 

-

 

on their way out the door earlier, Zayn had grabbed her skateboard from the hall closet and then tossed Louis his. “it’s not that far,” she’d told him. “‘sides, it’s really nice out tonight.”

and she had been right, on both counts.

Louis’ never been all that sold on subways, anyway, never came to appreciate how stuffy and overcrowded they always seemed to be. so it’d been a nice change of pace, a nice ride with the night air cool on his face and the sidewalks pleasantly smooth under his wheels. and they got to the party easy enough, housed in a tall building only a few blocks away from their apartment, only a short cruise down fairly residential streets.

but now that they’re here, the boards pose a bit of a problem. Zayn rolls her eyes when he brings this up.

“don’t start, you. and use your head for once -- this is New York, there’s bound to be a coatroom set up somewhere.” which, yeah. Louis has to give her that one, probably. “actually, here,” she shoves her skateboard against his chest, strips off her bomber jacket, and then drapes it over top. “go put those down - yours, too - and come find me after. we are gonna get ourselves good and plastered, and then we’re gonna find some cute boys with cute butts that’ll take us home with them. sound good?”

“sounds perfect,” Louis agrees, presents his cheek for her to kiss, and then watches Zayn sway her way into the throng. Louis spins on the spot, prepares himself to go on the hunt: coatroom first, booze second, dick third. aaand break.

 

it takes him fifteen whole minutes, but he finds the damn coatroom. by the time he’s done there, Louis is more than ready to meet back up with Zayn and let her ply him with alcohol.

of course, when he fishes his phone out of his back pocket to message her, he sees that she’s already left him a text: _found irish dj .. already assured me tht he ’s a BIG fan of everything im packing .. P R A I S E .. sorry abt u tho, boo_ \- followed by three kissy face emojis.

which is really just code for: _found irish dj .. looks like i’ll be getting some after all .. A H A .. sorry that i’m not sorry_ \- the kisses, like the rest of the message, are a courtesy. basically, this means that Louis is on his own for the rest of the night.

and that’s fine, cool, whatever. who needs that bitch, anyway.

Louis shakes his head, knows he’s being unfair even as he thinks it. the truth is, he really is happy for her. Zayn deserves a good night out. 

but so does he, dammit. Louis worked his ass off this week, feels like he still smells of wheat bread and cold cuts and soup stains, knows that he could pick up a suitable fuck tonight even if he hadn’t taken the longest shower of his life this afternoon. he’s vaguely tired and terribly horny -- and far too sober.

putting fruity cocktails at the forefront of his mind, the number one priority, Louis stuffs his phone back into his pocket and pushes away from the wall that he’d been crowded against by hallway traffic. he makes his way through a sea of black and gold, mentally checking boxes off a list: ~~coatroom~~ , booze, dick.

 

two bottles of Blue Moon and a sweaty can of PBR later, Louis finally makes it out onto the dance floor. and yes, he knows the rhyme - his mother used to make him repeat it back to her whenever she saw fit to let him out at the weekend during high school, thank you very much - but when a pretty bro with pretty muscles leans down and whispers something about tequila shots in his ear, well. you best believe Louis doesn’t even hesitate before pushing said bro down across the kitchen island. especially when he has such a pretty bellybutton, bless.

he lets a cute ginger mix him a highball of something sweet and green a little while later, and then lets the cute ginger grind up on him as a reward. after that, Louis allows himself to be passed along a string of cute (if forgettable) brunettes, who are okay fun (but also dreadfully boring). the last of these is an Actual White Boy with _Actual White Boy Dreads_ , which is usually the ultimate deal-breaker. but --

Louis is drunk. very drunk and, apparently, very willing to look past unacceptable grooming habits on this night of nights. the guy smells nice, at least. like coffee beans and whipped cream and cinnamon. so there’s that.

on his way to grab another beer and a new dance partner, Louis finds the DJ booth. it’s tucked into a dark corner, and really isn’t much more than a collapsable table with a pair of Macbooks set up in the middle, a few towers of cds stacked precariously at both ends. but sure enough, there’s Zayn’s Irish DJ, a messy bleach job streaking through his fringe and giant headphones slung loosely around his neck. and tucked against Irish DJ’s side, swaying to the beat with a wild smile stretching her lips, is Zayn herself.

he catches her attention and she throws him a wink, eyebrows waggling ridiculously. Louis laughs himself hoarse on the way back to the kitchen.

 

-

 

somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom, Louis decides that he really wants something from Starbucks. no, not even just a want at this point -- Louis _needs_ some Starbucks. stat.

he immediately blames White Boy Dreads and the fact that he’d smelled so much of overpriced frappucinos.

as he redirects himself up a flight of stairs - the first floor bathroom’s line too much for him to handle in his current state - Louis amends his mental checklist: ~~coatroom~~ , ~~booze~~ , dick.. that will also be willing to buy him coffee. mm, priorities.

there are apparently two toilets on the second floor. though, according to the rando he stops halfway down the hall, Louis would have more luck with the one in the master bedroom. he tips an imaginary hat at this kind stranger before pushing onwards, takes a sip of his Corona and debates the merits of Cinnamon Dolce versus Salted Caramel Mocha.

Louis finds the master bedroom just as he settles on _caramel caramel, sticky sticky caramel syrup in my mocha, yes please_ and breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes it’s blessedly empty, completely having forgotten to knock before barging in. eh, not as if it’d have been the first time he walked in on drunken party sex. 

as he passes by the bed, he recognizes a particularly threadbare denim jacket amongst a mountain of much more weather-appropriate winter coats. and then it hits him: he’s back at the coatroom! but of course! he _knew_ those terribly tacky bedside lamps looked familiar. Louis waves his fingers at his and Zayn’s boards where they’re propped up on the mattress against the headboard.

the master bath, when he lets himself in, is also empty. good. Louis takes care to balance his beer bottle safely on the tank before lifting the toilet lid.

after that, it’s pure relief. he’s convinced that there’s absolutely nothing in this world like a nice, long whizz. _nothing_. in fact, there’s a tweet being composed in his head even as he continues to drain the snake, something about heaven to be found at the bottom of a porcelain bowl.

it’s not until he's zipping himself back into his jeans, that Louis hears it. soft giggling, coming from - the shower? 

Louis is drunk, and as such, has momentarily forgotten every lesson he’s ever learned from every horror movie he’s ever seen; he steps over and pulls back the shower curtain without even a second’s hesitation. and it’s fine, in the end. because there isn’t an axe murderer waiting to chop him to bits, or some poor, unhinged Oedipus with a kitchen knife poised above their head.

instead, it’s just a kid. and not the creepy Children of the Corn kind, either. just. there's this kid sitting in there, curled up on the floor of the tub with his knees tucked under his chin. and he can’t be a day over seventeen, really, eighteen at a stretch. not with his limbs so long and gangly, body held awkwardly like he’s not properly gotten used to them yet. 

inexplicably, he seems to be holding an orange in one wide palm, peeling the rind in a careful spiral with his other hand. it takes him a second, but eventually the kid looks up and smiles, all of his teeth on display even as he says, "you want a slice?"

his hair is a tangled mess atop his head, hanging limply over his forehead and into wide eyes. eyes that would probably be green, if not for how the pupil has swallowed up most of the iris. this kid must be on some serious shit, then.

sweat is collecting at his temples, soaking through the curls there, his sweater thin and looking to be made of mostly mesh, and -- Louis accepts the section of orange handed to him over the lip of the tub, his stare aimed firmly at a dusky pink nipple. and it would really suck if this kid turned out to not be eighteen, like. it would _really_ suck.

"hey, so um -” the kid stammers around a bite of fruit, a drop of juice sliding down over his chin. “do you know what time it is? only.. my friend said he'd be back in a bit, but he hasn’t been? and i don't think he’s going to.. not for a while, anyway.” Louis watches in amazement as the kid finishes off the segment in his hand and then licks indulgently around his fingers. he’s still got his thumb in his mouth when he picks up his train of thought again, “yeah, ‘cause like, i told him i really wanted a smoothie earlier and he was like, _a smoothie, dude? really?_ and i was like, _yeah, man!_ then he threw this orange at me and left, said he’d be back soon. but that was a while ago and - oh hey, do you think you could get me blanket? it’s pretty cold in here, isn’t it?"

wow, okay. this kid is fucking _gone,_ actually, so much that Louis can feel himself sobering up just looking at him. he reaches over and pulls a fluffy towel off the rack on the wall next to the shower stall. the grateful grin that spreads across the kid’s face when Louis bends down to tuck it around his shoulders is. really very pretty.

"so kid, who are you?” Louis finally asks. he doesn’t get an immediate response, and in that second Louis figures he should probably also know: “and who's your friend?" 

“oh, i’m sorry! how rude of me not to introduce myself - i’m Harry! hi, hello! and my friend is, um,” he stops, tilts his head as if he actually has to think about it. "Nialler, uh, _Niall Horan._ he's like.. blonde, right, but it’s not real, basically. and he’s maybe kinda short? like, short _ish?_ he’s shorter than me, but probably taller than you. you seem really short, though, that’s cute." he pauses again, glances down at the half-eaten fruit wedged between his knees, and when he speaks next, his voice is pitched down to a hushed whisper. he looks back up at Louis with an awed expression, as if he’s imparting a secret of grand importance. "also, he’s _Irish_."

Louis laughs outright, because of course the universe would work this way, "wait, so you're friends with Irish DJ?" 

Harry’s face opens up in recognition and he's nodding quickly, curls flying around his face, "yes! he's a DJ!” his lips settle into a pleased line, “so that's where he went.. oh, that's alright then. at least i've got this orange, right?" Harry’s still smiling slightly as he peels away another segment and sucks it into his mouth. his brow furrows after a quiet moment, however, and he pouts at Louis as he spits a pair of seeds into his palm. "why haven't you eaten yours yet? do you not like citrus? i think i have a cherry lollipop in my pocket, hold on."

Harry goes about digging into the pockets of his impossibly tight jeans, and Louis realizes that he’s still standing outside the shower, staring down at Harry uncomfortably. he shrugs a bit helplessly at himself before kicking a foot up and over into the tub, climbing the rest of the way in and seating himself down with his shoulders to one side of a rusty spout.

he’s pulling the shower curtain shut around them when Harry looks up again. and there’d been a small frown tipping down the corners of his mouth, but he notices Louis’ change in location with a flash of straight, white teeth.

“so, um.. i think i might have actually eaten that sucker for lunch? but!” Harry holds out his hand, a red square in his palm. “i’ve got some Skittles, like, if you want? they’re clean, promise.”

the tacked-on reassurance surprises a huff of laughter past Louis’ lips, and he lets Harry drop the packet into his lap with a muttered _thanks_ and a passing wonder for how his night has ended up, swapping out booze for candy.

 

when Harry eventually leans across their tangled legs and fumblingly crawls into his lap, Louis determinedly stops his face getting any closer with a hand spread wide and immovable over his sternum. Louis has a very important question to ask, see.

“pause, little one,” he says, and Harry pouts at him right off. Louis rolls his eyes in an effort to distract away from the fond curl of his lips as he continues: “hey, no, stop that. i just need to make sure -- you’re eighteen, right? please tell me you’re eighteen.. or like, a really mature seventeen, even. i could be alright with a mature seventeen.”

it’s considerably more shadowed behind the closed shower curtain, but Louis can still see the way Harry’s eyes seem to spark. and even if he hadn’t, he can definitely _feel_ the way Harry starts to wiggle in his lap, impatient. 

“yes yes, been eighteen for a whole month and a half already - bought a pack of cigarettes i didn’t smoke, bought a scratch card that i didn’t win. super boring, eighteen. nothing like the movies say,” he presses in, noses along Louis’ jaw. “can i kiss you now? please let me kiss you now.”

and he’d said please, so. who is Louis to deny him.

Harry’s lips are chapped, but his tongue is soft and slick. better still, he kisses like Louis is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted; bites and sucks at him, breathes heavily into his mouth. it’s kind of nice, honestly. makes Louis feel like, _wanted_ and shit.

he holds Harry around his thin waist, ribs a delicate suggestion under the thin fabric of his sweater. Louis wants to touch more skin than the mesh allows, though, so he slides one set of fingers down and under the hem, gets a good grasp of doughy flesh at Harry’s hip. he squeezes around his handfuls, a hint of nail that forces Harry to break away from Louis’ mouth and bury a moan into the hollow between his collarbones.

things don’t take all that long to devolve after that, rocking into each other stutteringly and somewhat frantically, the air in the shower stall humid with their damp breaths. and even though they’re both too messed up to get properly hard, what they’ve got going is more than enough for right now.

Louis likes this, has missed having someone in his lap, someone who feels smaller than him. and Harry is only just that, despite his longer limbs; he’s still got that suggestion of baby fat rounding him out, skinny chest and knobby joints, a softness about him that isn’t entirely physical. at that stage where he’s probably going to shoot up like a birch tree any day now, but not yet. petite for just a little while longer.

except for his hands.

his hands seem suddenly much larger than Louis remembers them being, feel positively massive when they cup Louis’ neck and twist in his hair. not small at all, Harry’s hands.

even so, Louis starts feeling cramped and uncomfortable after some time in the same position, tries reclining and scooching himself down the floor of the tub to settles himself deeper into the curve. Harry, bless him, catches on quickly. sliding his giant hands down Louis’ sides, Harry lays into him, an easy weight all along his front.

they wriggle and writhe and get comfortable. they’ll be there for a while.

 

an insistent buzzing from Louis’ jeans is what ultimately pulls them apart, mouths sore and chests heaving. Harry leans back only just slightly, lets Louis get a hand into his front pocket.

his phone is showing three new texts: _irish dj’s set is done so we’re heading back to his .. dont wait up , love you .xx_ \- followed immediately by: _his name is niall btw .. super irish rght lol_ \- and then, timestamped only a minute ago: _idk yet , but i have a feeling he’s got a big dick .. fuck yea_ \- with a winky-eyed smiley at the end for good measure.

which is pretty much the rest of Zayn’s night sorted. and good for her, too, but now it’s Louis’ turn to make some moves, solidify his plans.

he tucks his phone away and starts to mentally weigh up the pros and cons of allowing Harry to cross off the last line of the night’s checklist; ~~coatroom~~ , ~~booze~~ , _dick ??_

when he lifts his head, however, he finds that not only has Harry scooched himself back off of Louis’ lap, he’s now taken off one of his boots as well. he holds it up in front of himself, thrust out toward Louis, shy smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

his voice is a rough whisper of sound, low and scratchy from the back of his throat, when he says, "to remember me by." 

Louis’ mind automatically brings up the image of Harry dressed in a sparkling blue ball gown, and he has to physically shake his head to remove it. "you could.. uh,” he coughs, laughter caught in his throat at the absurdity of the situation, “you could just give me your number, you know." 

"mm, no. can’t. don't remember it," Harry tells him, smile growing wider.

"you don't -- oh right, you’re high as hell." Louis honestly has no idea how he could have forgotten, looks into Harry’s dilated eyes with a sigh. “and let me guess, you have no idea what it was that you took.”

Harry really has got incredibly nice teeth, almost too big for an already large mouth. even as he speaks, his smile is just this side of intimidating, lips bruised pink and wet and beautiful. “not a clue,” he grins.

“awesome,” Louis mutters, mostly to himself, more than a bit annoyed. because now, whatever he might have ended up deciding about Harry’s _dick_ has been preemptively taken off the table. because now, Louis feels responsible for this kid’s _well-being_. “how are you getting home, little one?" 

Louis breathes another sigh when Harry lifts his shoulders in a careless shrug, but they’ve both got grins curling their lips this time.

and it isn’t as if this is some sort of chore that Louis’ dreading, no, nothing as bothersome as all that. he’s just looking after his own interests, really; Harry is sweet and attractive and one day Louis may very well want to have him in every way that he can. which he won’t be able to do if the kid turns up dead in a ditch somewhere.

"maybe it'd be best if you just come home with me, yeah?" Louis proposes, and Harry agrees immediately. 

"oh good!” he’s already got the shower curtain open again, tumbling out over the side of the tub. “you can't forget me if i come with you, good idea!"

Harry helps Louis up, surprisingly strong arms pulling him to his feet, and then trails behind him back into the main room. Louis grabs his jacket from the pile on the bed and shrugs it on, gestures for Harry to do the same. they get tangled up in a bit of an awkward waltz when Louis reaches for his deck - it’s sat alone against the headboard now, which means that at some point, Zayn must have come in to retrieve her own along with her coat, just a door away from where Louis and Harry were dry humping in a bathtub - at the same time that Harry makes for a black peacoat. Louis chuckles, hopelessly endeared, and Harry blushes deeply.

the party’s still going strong when they step around the bedroom door, sound system pumping a generic dance mix without the talents of Niall the Irish DJ to keep things interesting. they make it all the way down the stairs and halfway out the front door before Louis notices that, along with a skateboard under his left arm, he’s also somehow ended up with a scuffed suede boot in the opposite hand.

"i have your shoe," Louis stops once they’re out on the portico, turns to face Harry before he can take the first of the few steps down to the sidewalk.

Harry, still fiddling with the buttons of his coat, glances up with genuine gratitude in his voice. "oh wow, thanks,” he smiles gratefully as he takes back his boot, eyes reflecting the dull yellow of a streetlamp. “i thought i’d lost it.”

it’s ridiculous, and he really shouldn’t be surprised by much of anything at this point, but watching Harry plop down onto the cold concrete, Louis has to laugh. his checklist may have to be left incomplete for now -- but this is better, probably.

 

-

 

so they don’t have sex that first night, and Louis is surprisingly okay with that. honest.

it’s just -- Harry is _really_ fucked up. even after Louis watches him chug what probably amounts to something like an actual gallon of water and then convinces him to eat a bit of something more substantial than an orange of dubious origin, even then, Harry is like. really odd?

that said, it’s most likely that odd is just the kid’s default state. it’s good, though, a good kind of odd. the kind that makes Louis smile before he realizes he’s doing it, the best kind of odd.

like when Louis had first gone into his kitchen to make Harry a couple of Poptarts; he could have sworn that he’d left Harry smiling sweetly in his living room, fitting himself into the center crack of Louis’ lumpy couch. but not three minutes later, there’d been a warm presence at Louis’ back and thin arms snaking around his waist, their hands with fingers spread wide across his stomach as a chin hooked over his shoulder, a warm sigh tickling the wisps of hair behind Louis’ ear.

“mm, those smell delicious already,” Harry’d said, and it had taken Louis a second to catch on, as there was a nose nuzzling into his temple. then the toaster had gone off and Louis forced himself to busy his hands, distract from the way his pulse had quickened ridiculously at the rumble of Harry’s voice when he spoke again. “hey, i meant to ask.. what’s your star sign?”

Louis’d smiled, and much in that same fashion, Harry’s questions had continued to come:

at the bathroom sink, a finger in his mouth and spearmint toothpaste bubbling pretty grossly past his lips, “so, where do you stand in the great vinyl versus mp3 debate? or are you one of those people that swear by flac like it’s the second coming of christ?”

in the bedroom, after Louis so graciously finds him some pajamas that might actually fit, “favorite cheese? everyone has a favorite.. mine’s gouda.” then ,when he completely ignores the proffered clothing, stripping down to nothing but miles of pale skin interrupted only by a pair of tiny white briefs, “wait, this is actually really important - are you a cat person or a dog person?”

and finally, once they’re both in bed and under the covers, where he manhandles Louis into being the big spoon, “how big’s your dick, then?” a pause, before, “careful, though. this question does, in fact, have a wrong answer.”

Harry’s voice is low in his throat, a husky thing that sounds positively obscene in the still darkness of the room.

sucking in a sharp breath and burying his face in the matted curls at the nape of Harry’s neck, Louis does his very best to maintain composure. and retain dignity. “we’re not going to have sex tonight, Harold.”

and Harry just sighs, small and quiet, but somehow still enough to make Louis feel silly. he tips his head back so that Louis loses his convenient hiding place, is now forced to watch how Harry’s mouth drops open just slightly with the stretch. then he twists his lips mockingly.

“well, obviously. like. i don’t usually wear anything to bed, you know. much less _underwear,”_ he pushes back some, scootches his little bottom snug up against Louis’ crotch. as if either one of them need the reminder. “and i mean, why do you think i asked? not like i’ll be seeing it for myself any time soon, so.”

“tonight,” Louis finds himself stressing. “not _tonight,_ but --”

Harry shushes him softly, “shh, hey. i know, i know.” he pulls Louis’ arms tighter around his middle and giggles an airy sigh, “your chivalry is kinda cute, you know. i mean, like, it’s annoying? but also really cute.”

Louis lets himself be used as a blanket, settles along Harry’s back comfortably. he has to strain his neck a bit to peek out over a skinny bicep, squint his eyes toward the digital display of the clock at the other side of the room. and when he does, the bright blue numbers tell him that it’s ten to four in the goddamn morning.

Harry whispers a near silent _you’re really cute_ into the pillow beneath his head, and Louis has no idea how that happened - the time, this boy, not any of it. he’s surprisingly okay with that. honest.

 

just as Louis had started fully dropping off, Harry piped up to ask one last question of him: “pancakes and sausage links, or waffles and bacon strips?” and because it was four in the morning, Louis didn’t answer immediately, only hummed a vague response when he eventually did. Harry gave him a nudge, a bony elbow right between Louis’ ribs. “come on, last one, promise. need to know what to make you tomorrow morning, okay? _please_.”

the last bit was little more than a wisp of air from Harry’s cracked lips, and it had been that, more than the prospect of breakfast in his future, that made Louis answer. truth be told, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he woke up alone come morning, wrapped up in nothing but his thin sheets.

because he’d forgotten, see, that Harry was an odd case. the best kind of odd.

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://dialethetic.tumblr.com/) (╯3╰)


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